


but you're not mine

by hesperia (erythea)



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, Not Beta Read, Pining, horny descriptions of tattooed men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:42:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27092230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erythea/pseuds/hesperia
Summary: At night, Ritsuka thinks about Yan Qing against her better judgement.
Relationships: Fujimaru Ritsuka/Yan Qing | Assassin
Comments: 15
Kudos: 53





	but you're not mine

**Author's Note:**

> ritsuka's cute. yan qing's hot. i'm bi.

Yan Qing can never say no to Ritsuka, so she doesn't ask for anything. 

But she'd be lying if she said she didn't want something.

It's almost midnight. She's supposed to be asleep — it upsets him when she doesn't sleep — but he had come in hours before to tuck her in, and she did her best to fool him. He can't know the effect he has on her, the things he makes her do. She knows he doesn't. He always treats her like a child. But if he knew, she's sure that he would accept her. It scares her to know that he would say yes.

She never knows when he truly wants it.

So she keeps to herself.

In the company of darkness and silence, Ritsuka tosses and turns under the sheets, his handsome face never far from her mind.

She recalls his morning routine. There he is in the simulation room, fluorescent lights outlining every angle of his Olympian frame and every shape of his solid strikes. The motions are fluid and swift like the sound of his name, the flex and pull of each muscle so captivating with the definition they create. His body glistens with sweat, and he is like a pillar of marble after the rain, rivulets rolling down his skin, cutting across dragons etched on its surface.

She sighs.

She gropes the swell of her breast and rolls on her side.

Ritsuka's hand is caught between her thighs as she thinks about that October night: the wind in her hair, the stars in the sky, and her bosom flush against Yan Qing's tattooed back. She rubs her breasts where they are soft and tender, kneads them over the fabric, and in her head all she sees is body upon body, skin against skin. Warm sounds from her throat tickle her lips. That night, he asked her to come with him, and she'd always wondered if he meant it. She doesn't want him to mean it. That would make everything too easy.

She thinks about Yan Qing washing himself in the shower. Whimpers as her mind watches his hands on his body. If he touched her, would she like it? She doesn't want him to please her. She wants them to drown in each other. To be in so deep, they can't even breathe. He sighs, and she wonders if she could make him sound like that. His hair flows like ink as warm water caresses his every contour, the image so close she can almost taste it: collarbones to the corners of his hips, chest to the length of his— 

Fingers glide over Ritsuka's folds, the cloth of her panties clinging to their wetness. She thinks about what it's like to feel him. To rest her head against his chest and hear his heartbeat. To intimately know that he is happy. In her memory, his chest is warm and inviting. In her mind, she can close her lips around it. She can kiss the ink of his skin, lave her tongue over every painted petal, and taste him where he tightens. In her mind, he's delicious. Her nipples strain against her nightgown and ache for release, so she flicks them, rolls them between her fingers. She imagines him pinching her nipples until they reach a pleasant ache, sucking on them until they're sore and covered in spit. Would he let her do the same? She rolls on her back and tugs at her nightgown, straps slipping off her shoulders as the fabric tickles her breasts. Fingertips start rolling the stiff, rosy peaks, and her eyes flutter shut. She imagines his soft lips on her flesh, his laughter against her chest, his eyes meeting hers as his tongue touches her skin. She slathers her fingers in spit and rubs her breasts until it all feels real.

It's not enough.

Ritsuka slips her panties down her legs, wet fingers and damp fabric brushing against the back of her thighs, and pretends it's the soothing warmth of Yan Qing's hands there, replacing the cool air against her folds coated in her slick. She licks her lips. If he saw her now, she'd never forgive herself. If he saw her now, what would he say? She lifts the skirt of her nightgown and she feels naked, bare chest and legs spread open for someone who could catch her at any moment. If he saw her now, she wants him to call her all sorts of things. To cast aside inhibition and say her name. Her clit hardens under her fingertips, and her slit begins to sweetly drip. She thinks she'd love it.

In her mind, he does. She buries her fingers inside her and she thinks about how he'd taste within her. How he'd fill and stretch her with his cock. Was it going to fit? Was it covered in the same ink as the rest of him? Her fingers enter her, slow and careful, and she bites her lip at how she stretches herself, imagining his hands, his hips, his heat. They still leave her wanting, so she starts to move. She gropes her breast as she strokes her walls, digits getting wetter as her toes curl with each sweet sensation. In her mind, he's bearing down on her, panting in her ear. His breath is hot and like smoke as it spreads a warmth across her bare shoulders and down her neck. In her mind, he smiles like it's nothing. She can't let that happen. When it does, she wants it to be raw, honest, and real.

Ritsuka rolls on her side again, knees on the mattress and fingers to the knuckle. At times they move inside her like a piston, pushing his name onto her tongue before it rolls out like a sweet river emptying itself into the sea. Other times, she grabs onto her pillow and stifles her needy whimpers. The sounds her body makes are not as pretty. They fill the air along with all this sweat and heat. She imagines him here, their wet bodies sharing what they yearn for. She knows what he needs, and it's not this, it's never this, but when she is alone, she becomes so aware of what little she can give herself.

And Yan Qing never thinks about himself.

Ritsuka throws her hips into a frenzy, bucking into her hand and bumping against the sheets. Her toes dig into the mattress for purchase. Her moans scratch out of her throat. She balls what she can of her pillow into a tight, little fist. She closed her eyes and she finds herself in a world where all she has to do is take him to the hilt. She obliges.

"Yan Qing," she cries, the name like honey. "Yan Qing, please—"

He's not here, he can't be, but her body rocks against where he could be and she is desperate. If he can't love her anywhere else, let it be here. Here, here, here. The pressure of her fingers against her walls builds a pleasure waiting for release and her muscles tighten, winding her up as she braces herself for the climax. If he can't be here, then the least he could do is let her have this.

That is, the blank slate of her mind, and the vivid ecstasy that comes after.

Ritsuka screams upon release, the warm thought of him closer than ever. She pulsates around her fingers, and for a while she keeps them there, knowing she only has the night to make believe. He's always taking care of her. Will there be a time she can do the same?

Soon, she pulls out and sighs. Her hand is sticky and wet with her juices. She wants more, so she wraps her lips around her digits and pretends it's him. She is a flushed, naked mess, ginger hair matted against her forehead covered in sweat, but within the four walls of her room, it doesn't matter. As she sucks the flavor out of her fingers, she thinks about savoring the fantasy until she has to face the morning.

She faces it too soon.

At the door stands a tattooed man, shirtless under his open robe. His pants ride low on his hips as he stuffs his hands in his pockets and leans against the doorframe.

He smiles.

"Master." He calls her in a lazy drawl that rolls out like smoke from a hot gun. "Didn't I tell you to go to sleep?"

**Author's Note:**

> There's going to be a part 2. It just exists as a draft right now. But it's happening.


End file.
